


Undercover Boyfriends

by ladymac111



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Art, Champagne, Dancing, Fireworks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Illustrated, M/M, New Year's Eve, Party, coming clean about feelings, it was a long time coming, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John go undercover as a couple at a fancy New Year's party.  But when did being a couple stop being an act?</p><p>Illustration at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undercover

“That's quite an alias,” John snickered as they made their way towards the coat check. “Benedict Cumberbatch? Only slightly less fake than Fakey McFakerson.”

Sherlock snorted. “Not my idea, John. Mycroft set this whole thing up.”

They exchanged their overcoats for claim tickets and made their way towards the dining room, where there were sounds of a string quartet. “I'll have to remember to thank him,” John said. “This is definitely the most posh New Years party I've ever been to.”

“Really, John, _please_ don't thank him. We're here working for him. No fun until the work is finished.”

“I don't suppose there's any chance that I could have a good time while you snoop?”

“No, that would look suspicious. This isn't a typical party, John. Only couples have been invited, anyway, you won't find anyone to chat up. Well, not anyone you could chat up publicly without causing a scandal.”

John sighed. “So I'm stuck by your side all evening.”

“Do keep in mind that we are undercover _as a couple_ , so yes, it's best if we stick together.”

“Do I have to call you Benedict?”

They stepped into the dining room, and Sherlock spoke distractedly as he scanned the room. “Only if you think someone might be listening, or if you're introducing me to someone. No, scratch that, let me do all the introducing.”

“So what am I, arm candy?”

Sherlock glanced at him and smirked. “If you like.” He snaked his hand around John's elbow and affected a relaxed posture. “I find I fancy a drink. How about you, darling?”

John snorted a laugh. “A drink would be great, but if you call me _darling_ again I won't be able to keep a straight face.”

The first couple of hours were fairly dull. Sherlock located their target, Mr O'Leary, a wealthy senior partner at a major bank who Mycroft had reason to believe was embezzling funds and financing a terrorist organization with the help of the wife of another senior partner, Scott, who was also supposed to be at the party. “What I don't understand,” John said, “is how being at this party could be useful. Surely they're not stupid enough to talk about it in public.”

“This isn't public, though,” Sherlock explained, his breath warm on John's cheek. “This party is very exclusive, invitation-only. And our target's wife is an extremely jealous type, so he doesn't have much opportunity to work with his partner in crime except at events like these, where it's expected they'll be social together. They're far too careful to leave a paper or electronic trail.”

“Which is why you've got me wearing a wire.”

“Exactly.”

“And why is it me, and not you?”

Sherlock looked surprised. “If one of us is going to be recognized, it would most likely be me. Should that happen, I would need you to stay and try to keep close, in case they say anything. And besides” – he patted his breast pocket – “I'm wearing one too.”

John couldn't help but smile. “Well, that does make me feel better.” He looked around the room. “Do you think we're acting couple-y enough? I really don't want to have to do this myself.”

Sherlock chuckled and leaned very slightly closer. “I think we're doing fine. Seeing as the people who actually know us think we're together, it shouldn't be to much for a stranger to believe.”

Their second target arrived as the dinner portion of the evening was wrapping up, and Sherlock pointed her out to John. “There, the sixty-something woman in the navy dress and overly gaudy earrings. I'm surprised she'd wear rhinestones here, she can afford diamonds easily.”

“Perhaps she's not quite as well-off as we thought.”

“No,” Sherlock said, eyeing the husband. “I think she's being punished. Not sure why, exactly, but her husband doesn't want her wearing real jewels tonight.”

“Maybe once we get our evidence you can figure that one out.”

“If we're lucky, it'll all happen together.”

They watched for a while as some of the guests started to dance, while others chatted over cocktails. The two couples of interest were all four of them around a table for a while, until the two targets got up and moved towards the dance floor. Neither Sherlock nor John missed the other wife's dirty look, but she didn't move to follow them.

Sherlock stood up. “John, may I have this dance?”

John tried not to gawk at him. “Excuse me?”

Sherlock dragged him to his feet and breathed in his ear. “Best way to get close without being obvious. And don't say you don't know how, that's a lie.”

John blushed. “Yes, all right. But I'm not going to follow.” He led Sherlock to the dance floor, and silently thanked Mary for making him go to those ballroom classes with her as he placed one hand on Sherlock's back and took the other in his left hand. Sherlock fell into the correct follow posture easily, and John was momentarily surprised that he knew how.

“Following isn't hard,” the detective said in his ear, and gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “Try to keep us near them. I'll back-lead if I have to, but that's considered poor manners and we don't want to stand out.”

John manoeuvred them across the floor in a simple foxtrot, and even flashed Sherlock a cheeky grin when he ran his hand down John's chest, surreptitiously switching on his recorder.

“I think we're already standing out,” John murmured. “I don't see any other same-sex couples.”

“They're just not dancing yet,” Sherlock said, gesturing with his chin to a pair of attractive thirty-something women who were casually holding hands as they sipped drinks and watched the dancers. “And there's a couple of men who are here with their beards.”

John almost snickered. “Poor gits. If only they were as comfortable as us.”

Sherlock didn't say anything to that, and John realized he may have struck a little too close to home with that one. He wondered sometimes whether they actually were a couple – certainly not in the conventional sense. They didn't kiss, or say _I love you_ , and they only even hugged occasionally. But it must mean something that John hadn't complained about going undercover as Sherlock's date. Possibly the same thing meant by the fact that John hadn't even tried to go on a date with a woman since Sherlock had returned. At any rate, he didn't make a habit of thinking very much about it, and he held Sherlock just a little closer as the music changed. The detective stiffened slightly, but relaxed when John gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Their targets didn't seem to notice them as they danced, and John was honestly surprised that they were actually discussing their _very illegal_ plans in the middle of the crowd. Sherlock was hanging on their every word, while John tried not to pay attention. Two songs later, they finally left the floor. Sherlock gave John a bright smile and stroked his chest again, switching off the recorder. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”

“Got what you needed?”

“That and more, I think.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “Fancy another dance?”

“I'd rather have another drink, honestly,” John said, leading them off the floor. “Take a little breather.”

“I figured out about the earrings, by the way,” Sherlock said as they accepted glasses of champagne. “I suppose you were trying not to listen.”

John nodded as the drink fizzed pleasantly inside his mouth. “We can't both stare, right?”

Sherlock smiled. “Quite. Anyway, she dropped a couple of hints and I deduced the rest. Her husband, Mr Scott, suspects that something's up. But he thinks she's helping O'Leary steal the money for personal reasons, which is why he's cut her off. He wants to see if she can continue spending in her usual way without his contributing, which apparently she can't. Her jewellery isn't even a very good fake. If we pay attention I'm sure we'll hear people gossiping about it.”

“I think we may be even more of an attraction for gossip than she is,” John said, looking around, and noticing several people quickly looking away. “We may have inadvertently made ourselves the centre of attention.”

Sherlock sighed. “I knew that was a possibility, though I'd hoped this particular crowd would be above being so openly interested in a gay couple.”

“No such luck, it seems.” John led them back to a table from which they could continue observing the Scotts and O'Learys, and Sherlock pulled out his phone and began texting. John decided not to bother him.

About twenty minutes later he finally surfaced with a triumphant grin. “Excellent,” he breathed, tucking his phone back into his jacket. “As long as the recording is of decent quality, I do believe we have this one in the bag.” He reached for his still-full glass and took a drink. “We can begin enjoying ourselves now, if you like.”

John couldn't help but chuckle. “You're already finished enjoying yourself, and you know it. Nothing this party can offer could be more interesting than the two cases you've just cracked.”

“Really, John, you think I would have taken this at all if I found it so distasteful? The case itself is barely a four.” He leaned closer. “It was, however, an _excellent_ pretence for taking out out on a date.”

John couldn't stop the blush that crept from his collar all the way up to his hairline. “A _date_?”

Sherlock leaned back with a smug smile. “Yes, it's where two people who like each other go out and have fun.”

“I know what a date is, I just didn't realize that our cover was meant to be … reality.”

Sherlock looked slightly wounded. “If I've got it wrong, just tell me.”

John was dumbfounded. “I … no, I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it?”

“I … I don't know. Really, I'm rather confused by … all of this, tonight.” He noticed several sets of eyes on them, which quickly looked away when Sherlock glared at them. John sighed and rubbed his face. “You picked a hell of a time to make me confront this.”

“Would it be easier on the dance floor?”

John thought back to earlier in the evening, how it had felt to hold Sherlock like that, to pretend that that was the only thing on his mind. Would that situation make it easier for him to sort out what he really felt? Would it make it easier to express what he really felt?

He stood, and offered a hand. “It's worth a shot.”

The string quartet only played another couple of pieces before a DJ took over, and John noticed that the demographics of the room had begun to change. “What's going on?”

“Getting closer to midnight,” Sherlock said. “The dinner portion of the evening was the exclusive event; from here it's open to the public, though still quite expensive. More young people around, though. And they'll have opened the rooftop terrace.”

“That sounds nice, actually,” John said. “Shall we?”

The view from the roof was gorgeous, and not too terribly cold, since there were space heaters strategically placed. They leaned on the ledge looking out over the city, and Sherlock took John's hand. “Lovely view.”

John looked down at their hands, then at his friend's face, cast mostly in shadow. “When did this stop being an act?” he asked quietly.

Sherlock leaned into him, and John felt the warmth of his body through their clothing. “If I had my way, it wouldn't be an act at all.”

John wasn't sure what to say to that, so he simply held his friend's hand as they looked out over their city, and Big Ben ticked down the minutes until midnight.

At around five minutes before the hour, a polite cough alerted them to the presence of someone behind them, and they turned to see a server with a tray of glasses. “Pardon, gentlemen,” he said. “Champagne? It's nearly midnight.”

“Yes, thank you.” Sherlock took two glasses and handed one to John. They set them on the ledge and looked at one another, Sherlock with question in his eyes.

John took a deep breath. “Why didn't you say anything?”

He shrugged. “Because I'm an idiot.”

John laughed, and caught Sherlock's hand again. “Yes, you certainly are. The most brilliant idiot I know.”

“But I have told you now,” Sherlock said. “The ball's in your court, as the saying goes.”

“It is, isn't it,” John mused. “This gives me a bit of power over you, doesn't it? I find I rather like this.”

“No need to rub it in,” Sherlock said with a smile. “I could probably deduce where you're going with this, though I imagine you'd prefer if I let you go with it on your own.”

“Right, very good.” John stepped closer. “Though you know how much I love hearing you rattle off your deductions. Go on, then.”

“Well, first the obvious,” Sherlock said. “You didn't bat an eyelash when I told you we were going undercover as a couple, and you didn't resist at all when I asked you to dance.”

“I knew it was for the case.”

“You would have resisted even then, if only a little. No, you liked the idea. You didn't want to, you were resisting internally, but you were excited. You liked dancing with me.”

“Yes, all right, go on.”

“Then, when we were on the dance floor.” He guided John's right arm around his back, and when they were in position they began swaying slowly to the music in the background. “You didn't have to hold me as closely as you did. At first I wasn't sure, but … you intended to do that. You liked having me close, as much as I liked being close to you. I admit it was sometimes a bit difficult to focus on my task. Which was why I asked you again later, and why I was surprised when you resisted then. Of course, you had no idea how I felt. You thought I was acting, and I rather blindsided you with the truth. I apologize for that, by the way.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Then, up here, when I took your hand, you seemed surprised, but you didn't pull away. You've come around to being my date. _Actually_ being my date at a very posh and very public event. Which can only mean that you've come to accept the feelings you hold for me, which are the same as those I hold for you.”

John licked his lips. “Would you care to outline exactly what those feelings are?”

Sherlock seemed bashful, and continued in a softer voice, ducking his head and setting their cheeks side by side. “I care for you, John, very deeply. More than I have ever cared for anyone. More than I thought I _could_ care for anyone. I know that it's a dangerous disadvantage, a huge liability. It makes you my greatest weakness. But I can't stop caring for you, and even if I could, I don't think I would want to.” He looked out at the city as he continued. “Recently I've realized that what I feel for you is love, in the truest sense. It surprised me because I've never loved anyone before, not really. Not at all like this.” He looked back at John. “Good?”

John felt light-headed with joy. “Yes,” he breathed. “ _Very_ good.”

Around them, people began counting down. They simply held each other until Big Ben struck the hour, and fireworks filled the sky over London.

“Happy New Year, Sherlock,” John said, tilting his chin up.

“Happy New Year, John.” Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to those of the man he loved and, he now knew, loved him back.

 

 

Please do not repost picture.

It may be reblogged [from my Tumblr](http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/39288655161/goes-with-my-new-new-years-eve-themed-fic).


	2. Coda

When Mycroft woke on New Year's Day, there were several messages on his phone from a colleague in the treasury. The first was time-stamped a few minutes after midnight, and the text read, “Isn't this your younger brother, the detective?” Warily, Mycroft opened the attached image, and although it was blurry and poorly lit, it was clearly a photograph of Sherlock embracing and kissing Doctor Watson with London's fireworks in the background.

Mycroft wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or proud, so he went on to the next message. This one was only text, sent a few minutes after the first. “At first I thought he was here investigating someone, but it looks like he had the same motives as the rest of us. Didn't realize he was gay, though.”

Mycroft frowned at the last line and clicked onto the final message, sent about an hour later. “I suppose you're asleep, eh? Happy New Year Mycroft. I know Sherlock's will be.”

The image showed Sherlock and John again, still on the same rooftop terrace as before, this time apparently dancing. John was shooting a smirk at the photographer, but Sherlock's attention was purely on the doctor, and his face bore an expression of such unrestrained happiness that Mycroft's chest constricted with the intensity of the emotion.

He set the phone aside. Perhaps it was a good day to drop in unannounced and offer his congratulations in person.


	3. Chapter 3

Full-size and rebloggable at [Tumblr](http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/40158232146/isnt-this-your-brother-the-detective).


End file.
